Hope for the Pains of Motherhood

We step into the unfolding drama of Genesis 3, spotlight shining on our foremother, Eve. I can only imagine the crushing fear she must have felt at the sound of God’s approach. We see her scurrying about the garden, ducking behind a tree as if vegetation could hide her from the presence of the Creator. Deceived by a serpent, the woman had eaten the forbidden fruit and had offered some to her husband, who also ate. Together, they rebelled against God.

Yet God draws her out from hiding—and his words to her are justice paired with grace in the shadow of sin. She would die in time—but that day, she’s named Eve, mother of the living.[1] She would multiply as commanded at the beginning.[2] But now, something else would also multiply—her pain.[3] She would be driven out of Eden to bear children in pain.

We are Eve’s daughters, women called to bring forth life, though it will include pain. We may have pushed our children out into the world or pushed through the complexities of adoption, fostering, or stepparenting. Whatever the case, to be a mother is to know incredible joy amid various pains. A mother’s personal suffering can feel isolating—yet Scripture invites us to set our motherhood pains within the grand narrative of God’s unfolding story of salvation. It’s a metanarrative that features a mother at its very beginning. And below are three truths that first mom, Eve, can teach every momma.

Our children are a gift of grace.

Eve had never known a moment outside of the garden. But there came a day when her eyes opened to a painful life beyond Eden. What were her thoughts on that first morning, I wonder? Did she grieve loudly? Did remorse threaten to overwhelm her? Did she console herself with God’s promise of a snake-crushing offspring? Her statement in Genesis 4:1 seems to suggest hope: “Now Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived and bore Cain, saying, ‘I have gotten a man with the help of the Lord.’” God remembered her in the wilderness and, by his mercy, the “mother of all living” became a mom (Gen. 3:20).

This woman—who had obeyed the voice of the cunning snake—deserved nothing but death. Yet there she was, alive and producing life. Eve knew that her child was God-wrought and not the product of her own strength or merit. She called her son Cain (the Hebrew word for “gotten.”) God had given her an offspring—would this one be the serpent-crusher she longed for? Tragically, what follows brings more pain before consolation. 

Pain in motherhood is more than labor contractions.

Genesis 4 isn’t a long chapter, and yet it overflows with common human experiences. We witness sibling rivalry, as envious Cain fumes over God’s pleasure in Abel, Eve’s second-born son. We find distrust of God’s word as Cain ignores God’s warnings against his sinful anger. We see a lack of self-control as anger crouches, pounces, and masters Cain. There’s domestic violence and murder as Cain strikes and kills his brother in a field.[4] The sin first sown in Genesis 3:6 was reaping a bounty of depravity in the world—and pain in Eve’s household.

I remember the first time I noticed a sin in my daughter that reminded me of my own past. My feelings were a jumble of present worries and former regrets. So, I can’t help but mourn with Eve in Genesis 4. She sits bereaved of both her sons: the second was dead, and the first was his killer. God’s words perhaps rung in her ears at the news of Abel’s death: “In pain you shall bring forth children” (Gen. 3:16). Surely motherhood pain is more than labor contractions. The child Eve had named “gotten with God’s help” had taken the life of his brother. And the entire drama was a sad echo of her own earlier crime—only amplified in degree.

Like mother, like son—Cain supplanted divine sovereignty by stealing something God had created. Not fruit this time, but human life. Men and women were to fill the earth with people, not destroy them. And yet, we find Adam and Eve’s firstborn son with bloody hands. Eve gave birth to sinners. People who would disappoint and hurt her and others. And worse—sometimes their sins reflected her own. Surely, no labor contraction can match that kind of pain.

Eve was left with a dead son and a second who acted more snake-like than snake-crusher. Would God’s grace continue to shine in the wilderness east of Eden? Where was the promised Seed of the Woman? 

Pain has an end date. 

“And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and called his name Seth, for she said, ‘God has appointed for me another offspring instead of Abel, for Cain killed him’” (Gen. 4:25). Seth (a name that sounds like the Hebrew word for “appointed”) was placed in Eve’s arms. The Lord appointed another offspring—a seed who would grow to produce good fruit. The covenant line of Seth would lead to righteous Noah, Abraham, David—all the way down to a holy baby in a manger.[5] God would keep his promise. The Seed of the Woman, the Savior promised to Eve, would come!

Motherhood pain emerges early in the story of Scripture. It springs forward to strike Eve. But God doesn't leave her defenseless. She’s armed with hope. Eve could testify to this: mothers can have hope amid our pain because God keeps his word. His poem of judgment to the serpent will be fully realized. The conquering Seed will crush the effects of sin and “will wipe away every tear from [our] eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore” (Rev. 21:4). Pain has an end date. Mommas feel the sting of the fall in various ways, but together, we can rest as Eve did in the promised Seed of redemption. He, Christ, sustains mothers still today and will one day deliver us from all pain.

[1] Genesis 3:20

[2] Genesis 1:28

[3] Genesis 3:16a

[4] Genesis 4:6–8

[5] Luke 3:23–38

*This article is adapted from The Seed of the Woman: 30 Narratives that Point to Jesus


Nana Dolce

Nana Dolce is the author of The Seed of the Woman: 30 Narratives that Point to Jesus. She is a visiting lecturer at the Reformed Theological Seminary in Washington D.C., (Women’s Teaching Lab) and a Charles Simeon Trust instructor. Nana and her family live in Washington DC. Contact her through her website or on Instagram.

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